


Reforging Wings

by demonladys



Category: Senki Zesshou Symphogear
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Extreme Hand Holding, F/F, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:08:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25501891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonladys/pseuds/demonladys
Summary: Tsubasa has spent all of her life being a sword. She’s yet to learn how to be a person.
Relationships: Amou Kanade/Kazanari Tsubasa
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	Reforging Wings

There’s blisters covering every inch of Tsubasa’s hands, coarse and rough spots so familiar with the handle of a blade between them that it’s almost uncomfortable when there’s not a sword in her grasp, or even a microphone that she can pretend is just a sword for singing. At this point her hands have grown numb to the sensation they leave. She swings her wooden sword with elegance and precision, no target in sight but she can imagine all the targets she needs if she closes her eyes. The world around her falls dim and all that remains is herself and an endless swarm of Noise. She thrusts her arms forward, always so careful to maintain her stance, and each of them falls cleanly by the edge of her wooden blade.

She releases all the air inside her stomach when she opens her eyes again and tension leaves her arms, but still she grips her training sword’s hilt with intensity, uneasy about the safety surrounding her in the spacious dojo. It’s pitch dark, lit only by the occasional flashes of lightning creeping in from outside. It’s not that she hungers for battle but that she isn’t used to a life beyond the battlefield yet.

Even after three years without a Noise attack. Tsubasa has spent all of her life being a sword. She’s yet to learn how to be a person.

A wooden door slides open from behind, startling Tsubasa. She quickly turns around and holds a battle stance at whoever’s intruding on her only to be greeted by the silhouette of a scruffy red-head woman in a tube top and ripped jeans that don’t reach her ankles. “Haha, knew you’d be out here,” Kanade chuckles -- mostly for herself, as the humor is lost on Tsubasa.

Tsubasa lowers her blade to her side and tries to sigh, but the air gets caught inside her stomach. “Kanade?” She’s got a lot of questions about how she found her, how she managed her way onto Kazanari property without Tsubasa’s invitation, and why she’s here and not back at their apartment but Kanade can read every single one before they leave her lips.

Kanade enters through the door and flips on a light switch, causing the Kazanari family dojo to glow like it never has before because Tsubasa prefers to train in the shadows. It’s more calming, she tells herself. Kanade grins, tossing her umbrella aside and showing off how wide she can smile with her hands on her hips. It’s her favorite form of greeting, and Tsubasa finds it absolutely adorable. Then her smile drips and her face slowly shows something resembling a concerned grimace. “Ya really think I’m not gonna come looking when my girlfriend wanders off without a word?”

Tsubasa’s sullen eyes dodge around, unwilling to meet directly with Kanade’s. “Ah...“

But as fast as Tsubasa is at dodging attacks from Noise, she can’t outspeed Kanade’s advance. Kanade dances like fire and inserts Tsubasa’s wrist into her grasp, quickly disarming her and tossing the wooden sword aside like a mere stick. “Come on, Tsubasa. You don’t need to keep doing this. The Noise are gone. Your dipshit grandfather is rotting in prison. And I’m here.” Kanade’s hand slides over Tsubasa’s own, rubbing against her blisters, making her feel them in a way she’s not used to feeling -- a way that makes her remember that they’re there. She gently etches a pattern into Tsubasa’s skin to express what words alone fail to: ‘your fight is over.’

“But…” She wants to argue the what ifs but no matter how sound her reasoning is, Kanade won’t allow Tsubasa to keep calling herself a blade. She certainly won’t allow Tsubasa to keep on training in the solitude of a dojo belonging to a family she no longer had reason to return to. Her uncle doesn’t live here anymore and anyone else who matters has long since vanished. And Kanade is right. It may not be the same Kanade that died that day, but even this Kanade from another dimension -- a Kanade who traveled across time and space for the sake of love and music -- knows Tsubasa Kazanari better than anyone.

Kanade uses her free hand to press her index finger against Tsubasa’s lip. “Hush, babe.” Tsubasa allows Kanade’s fingers to interlock with her own, but it’s a kind of vulnerability that she fears most. Allowing someone to see -- no, to  _ touch _ the parts of her that she doesn’t want anyone to know is even more disarming than tossing her sword away like nothing. It doesn’t hurt like it should, though. Kanade can touch them like all the rough spots are tender and soft even though they’re not. Kanade knows just how to make Tsubasa feel at ease without activating the pain of being touched where it hurts. There are boundaries only Kanade knows how to cross and she does it so boldly, but so lovingly that Tsubasa’s fight or flight doesn’t activate.

It’s a welcome kind of touch. But Tsubasa doesn’t understand.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I’m real worried. Do you wanna talk about it?” The gap between their faces closes until Kanade’s forehead bumps carefully against Tsubasa’s and their heartbeats seem louder to each other than raindrops on the roof or thunder in the distance. Tsubasa reaches for Kanade’s other hand and pulls on it, bringing it to her own and placing their palms together.

“It feels wrong to rest. If I’m not preparing for another fight, then what use am I?”

Kanade’s hands squeeze tight and Tsubasa’s rigid skin sweats against the matching coarseness of Kanade’s own hands. “Who says you need to have ‘use’? You’re a woman, not a tool.”

Those words ring clearly into Tsubasa’s ears and they’re both so uplifting and so exposing. It's a force of habit to push back against them, despite how comforting they truly are. “I am a sword- mm?!”

Tsubasa’s protests are immediately interrupted by the soaring sensation of chapped lips pressing against her own. Her eyes grow wide at first, but the tension keeping them open soon fades and they rest shut, calm. Kanade’s kiss envelopes her whole world for a brief moment. Hands press against each other, too, making way for another kind of kiss that never needs to part. It’s like floating through an ocean without a care in the world, knowing you’ll eventually wash ashore unscathed because there’s someone else keeping you afloat.

When their lips part, Tsubasa’s eyes can’t dodge Kanade’s gaze anymore. “You’re a much better kisser than any blade I’ve tasted.” She wears her signature dopey grin and somehow that’s just as powerful as every other motion she’s made since she entered the dojo.

“Kanade…”

“It doesn’t matter what you used to be. To me, you’re the woman I love.”

Tsubasa can’t help but fall apart and cling to Kanade’s shoulders, Kanade’s arms inviting her like open wings of an angel. For as much as she calls herself a mighty sword, Tsubasa’s feelings are as fragile as glass. But it’s okay. Kanade hasn’t broken her -- far from it. She’s helping build a new Tsubasa from the shards that had been left behind. And this Tsubasa, though it’s not easy to accept, doesn’t have to be a sword. There’s so many possibilities for what kind of woman this new Tsubasa could be, and Kanade will be there by her side every step of the way.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this completely on a whim and didn't edit it at all.  
> (also feel free to read this as trans!tsubasa. i didn't go in with the intention of writing that but by the end i was definitely feeling it.)


End file.
